Handprints in wet cement. Something so few of us have the privilege to do….to build a house from the ground up. Then comes the fun part…filling it with love and laughter and family, and turning it into a home. That’s what we did, the Divine Miss H and me. We anxiously waited for the day they poured the driveway. We put our hands in and celebrated as if we were getting our stars in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theater. She was 10.
My youngest daughter and I were getting to know each other again. I was on the up side of a long bout of depression and this little girl had taken the brunt of it as it ravaged our lives and ended the only marriage she knew. This house was our haven where we had girl nights and did our nails. Where we sat in the middle of the bed with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and a spoon, crying over bullies. Where we worked out the knots of adolescence and homework and learning to drive.
It was quiet. I didn’t like fighting over the TV so when the house was finished, I just didn’t connect the cable. We read. We played games. We talked. We grew and healed and became a family again. Our house was a home…the haven we both needed. Then…along came Mr. Virgo and so much love and joy and noise and happiness came in with him! He and Miss H bonded immediately. She was fifteen…it could have gone either way, but we all adored each other. A couple years later, the baby was gone off to college. Mr. Virgo and I were gypsies for three and a half years then came back home. I thought we were coming home to stay. I thought I would never move again. Turns out, only one of us is staying…and he’s up on the hill across the road.
Things change. That’s an absolute. And one of the things that has changed is my home that I so carefully built and tended. Funny…..it turned back into a house. It’s got walls and structure. It’s aesthetically pleasing. It’s in a nice neighborhood. It has a mountain behind it and a view of the valley in front. It has a covered porch. But it’s just a house.
My “home” left with Mr. Virgo. I am in search of a new home now. There is a part of me that will miss this place because of the sweet memories made. And, it’s those memories that linger around every corner…whispering “They don’t live here anymore.” It’s time to fly, my sweets. And I’m good with that.